Goodbye Baker
by phantasyfanatics
Summary: Chapter 1. Mrs. Hudson has some shocking news for John. Post Reich. not to heavy on spoilers, but be careful just in case you get hints that you didn't want. written by Jonathan
1. Chapter 1

Mrs. Hudson walked up the stairs to Sherlock's old flat. It was so empty without the man there. Only John was there now, never knowing what to do with his life. She sniffled as she pressed her hand against the door, thinking of the news she was going to press onto the poor man.

He was distressed enough, she decided, pulling her hand away and walking downstairs.

A knock on her door caused her to startle. "Hold on, I'm coming!" she yelled, hustling over to the door.

"Morning, Mycroft." she muttered as she opened the door for the man, swinging his umbrella.

"Morning," he curled his nose. "I'm here for the boxes of his paraphernalia."

"Oh good." she paused.

"Have you told him yet?" Mycroft asked.

The woman sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She shook her head. "I can't get myself to do it."

Mycroft breathed in, bracing himself for the somewhat sentimental conversation he was going to have to have.

"I tried just a few minutes ago, but I can't even seem to knock on the door. If I do get into the apartment, he is already so close to tears, I just can't do it."

"Martha," Mycroft said firmly. It was the first time he had used her first name. She didn't even know that any of the Holmes brothers, or even John, knew. "You have to tell him. You are leaving in three weeks. It's the law, you have to tell him. You don't want him to end up on the streets of London do you?"

"No, we'll tell him together."

"Fine." Mycroft rolled his eyes, starting up the stairs cooly, his umbrella leading the way. He tapped on the door twice, the walked into the flat. About 10 large cardboard boxes were filled with Sherlock's belongings, waiting for the elder brother to collect.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson asked, as a squeaky note erupted from where the man stood beside the window, holding his best friend's violin.

Mycroft shuddered, and tried to put himself in the maudlin feelings of those surrounding him. It didn't work. John's playing was terrible and even Mrs. Hudson was cringing.

John turned around, the light from the window casting an odd circle of light around his face. "Morning." he grumbled. "You can take the stuff."

"How long have you been playing the violin, John?" Mrs. Hudson asked, trying her best to smile.

"I was Googling it for the past few days. I can't stand my playing, but the grating sound of this damn violin is even worse in the silence."

Mycroft tapped to floor with his shoe, giving subtle hints to Mrs. Hudson to stop the jabbering and the small talk.

"John," she said, catching the hint. "There's been something I've been meaning to tell you the last few days. In fact, it was the day before he jumped that a young couple approached me about buying 221. They are expecting a baby and they want to secure their finances so they want to rent out the apartments. His brother is a carpenter, so he'll fix up the unit downstairs."

Mycroft stared vaguely and unattached to his watch.

"But this is my flat!" John shouted, surprising all of them with his reaction. He returned to his stoicism and sat down on the couch. "I'm sorry. I pay you the rent, you have every right to move on whenever you are ready."

"I'm going to my sister in Banff, she's got a nice little cottage near the downtown that she lives in and she wants me to live with her."

"Banff. I can't even think where Banff is! My brain has been deleting itself of all this information that I used to know!"

"Canada. The Rocky Mountains, John." Mycroft said sternly, knowledge just disappearing was not something he enjoyed hearing. The world was populated by enough stupid people already.

"I'm sorry. I should have known that, I've just been upset lately."

"We all have, love." Mrs. Hudson went to give him a hug, but he kept himself closed from the embrace.

"I'll pack up my stuff. How much time do we have?"

"About two weeks."

"Do you want me to put on some tea?" Mrs. Hudson asked to both of the men.

"I'm fine," Mycroft said, waving his hand. He pulled out his cell phone and quickly texted his crew to come and pick up the boxes. He knew without a doubt that his brother was not actually dead. There were many things his brother was, but a fake and a suicidist were not any of them. He knew Sherlock was out there somewhere, but if John and Mrs. Hudson didn't know, he wouldn't be the one to tell them.

John tried to smile politely at Mrs. Hudson as she asked him again about the tea, but it came out as more of a snarl. She left to buy some groceries for the next few days.

"John," Mycroft muttered. "I know this must be hard on you, and it's hard for me to believe as well, but it's probably good if you moved on from my brother. Get out of London. Get a job somewhere else, I can have some of my people help you get a job at any hospital in Britain. In fact, if you wanted to just leave the country, my people will help with that too."

"You want me to forget Sherlock?"

"Forget, no. Move on, yes."

"Move on where?"

"I can get you a job in Newcastle, Edinburgh, or Manchester. You could go back to school and learn something else entirely."

Six men came in behind Mycroft and picked up all the boxes, bringing them downstairs to be shipped to Mycroft's mansion.

John sat down on the couch, tears welling up in his eyes. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave Baker Street."

Mycroft turned before walking out the door. "I'll see you later this week."


	2. Chapter 2

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England will fall." Sherlock's voice echoed through John's dreams. Falling, falling, falling. Landing. A sea of blood surrounded the detective's face, until John saw a union Jack being placed over the dead body. John rushed at the corpse, trying to rip the flag off to see his friend's face once again, but he found that the detective was no more than an animal at a zoo, caged behind a pane of glass. John stared through the glass as masked men started to spray paint the glass with yellow symbols, smiling faces, IOU's and UMQRA.

John woke up with a start, breathing in deeply and looking at his clock. It was only 1:07 in the morning, he'd only been asleep for an hour. He got off of the couch and stood up, feeling suddenly claustrophobic in the flat. He needed to get outside. A long walk would probably calm him enough to get back to sleep.

He slipped his feet into a pair of shoes and put on a coat, stepping out into London fog. He absent-mindedly turned up his collar against the cool air, and walked down Baker street, alone in the night.

John wandered around for over an hour, trying not to think of Sherlock, or Mycroft, or Mrs. Hudson, or 221b. Things that had been suddenly placed into his life and just as quickly fading out. He felt his legs tire from all the walking, his cane only providing so much support after such a long walk. He realized he was close to St. Barts, a fair distance from Baker Street, so he climbed up a fire escape in a nearby alley and sat down for a break.

"You're not dead?" a scared voice from another nearby alley asked. John ignored the voices, it was probably just a gang fight and he shouldn't get involved.

"No." came a resounding baritone voice. It was unmistakably Sherlock's.

"Shut up!" John shouted, realizing the voices were probably playing in his head. "You're dead. Stop haunting me!"

"How? I saw you jump!"

"You think I, Sherlock Holmes, couldn't find a way to come back? Death is not but an illusion, Moran."

John didn't know who Moran was, but he was sick of the way he was living. He was going insane with grief over his friend and he couldn't stand it anymore. He stood up and glanced down the fire escape. He would jump, just like Sherlock, and be done with the voices forever.

He heard a gunshot in the alley and saw a figure running far below him. He didn't care.

"John?" a voice said from below him. John didn't even noticed the figure had stopped running. "John! It's me!"

"Shut up, you're dead. I'm going to jump if you keep talking to me!" the doctor kept his eyes closed.

"John listen to me! I faked my death to save you. I was never dead. Come down, I'm real."

"How can I believe you?" John opened his eyes. Sherlock definitely looked real, coincidentally standing in the alley below him.

"Just trust me."

"I trusted you before. I trusted you a flat-mate. As a friend. You betrayed me once, who's to say you won't do it again?"

"I broke your trust." Sherlock looked down at the cracked asphalt in the alley. "But I trust you. All I have to do is talk to you and you won't kill yourself. You're my friend, John, and I almost lost you to Moriarty on more than one occasion. Moriarty had three gunmen waiting for you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. If I didn't come out of his encounter, which he set up on the rooftop, dead, he would order all of your deaths. I jumped, and you were saved. I faked it, and now I am revealing my live self to you."

John's face quickly ran through a range of emotions before turning finally to anger. "You don't know what I went through!" he spat at the man on the ground.

"Well, judging from your obvious anger, your lost weight, your cane..." Sherlock's voice trailed off. "I was alone too. I'm sorry, John."

"You're the one who didn't die though. You owe me, and many others, a huge apology."

"You're right. I owe you."

"I owe you." John repeated softly, finally understanding what Sherlock was telling him. "You were set up. You had no choice."

"I'm your miracle, John."

The doctor stared at him quizzically before leaping down the fire escape and gripping the taller man in a tight hug. He sobbed into the detective's shoulder. "You're real."

Sherlock put a tentative hand on John's shoulder, "Let's go home."

John looked up at him with sad eyes, backing away slightly. "221B is no longer our home, or at least not for now."

"Mrs. Hudson is moving out of the country, presumably to an English speaking country, obviously not the United States and definitely not Florida. Ah, yes of course, Banff, Alberta. My stuff is at Mycroft's and he's offered you a job outside of London because of the memories. Both he and Mrs. Hudson delayed this news, presumably because they cared for your sentiments, but obviously not Mycroft, he's even more insensitive than I am...sometimes...Why would Mycroft wait? Oh, I know. He suspected me to be alive and that I would return to 221B and save the day."

John stared at the man in disbelief. Sherlock was back in full force. "Where'd you get all that from?"

"You, obviously. To be more precise I noticed because of markings along your face. Hard to see in the dim light, but there nonetheless. The first marking is simply a cut from your razor. In the entire time I've known you, you have never cut yourself on your razor and have surgeon's precision with everything. What causes the cut? Feelings. It's been close to three weeks since St. Bart's and I see scars of other cuts that are close to three weeks old, barely even there. This one is fresh, and deep. It looks angry and sad. What would you be angry about? Obviously it's unfair you are being evicted and that is why you are mad.

Now the other mark is much less obvious and it is right below your chin, in fact it is from a chin rest. I would know this mark because I have it as well. Not even noticeable to the untrained eye, but I've trained myself to look for it. You've been playing my violin, albeit probably dreadfully, for sentimental purposes, and you were playing it this morning. Mycroft hadn't taken any of my belongings until today, otherwise he would have taken the violin, unless of course he figured I would be coming back, which I believe he did, but that's another matter entirely.

The fact that you were walking here, even subconsciously, to an area around St. Bart's concludes that you are mourning my death, or that you already feel detached from your job. You know that you do not have much time to see the hospital and it's familiar area before you are moved at Mycroft's suggestion to another hospital."

"You're the same Sherlock I've always known," John muttered, and Sherlock swung his arm over the man's shoulder.

"Let's go to 221B then." Sherlock said. "It may not be home, but it can be our battle camp."

"It's not the end?"

"We aren't saying goodbye to Baker tonight, John."


	3. Chapter 3

John stepped into the cab. He was going to meet with the lawyers. Mrs. Hudson had hopped in a cab ahead of him to get some groceries. He felt tired from the feelings this morning that had ranged everywhere from being furious, to being happier than a little kid going for a ride on the Eye. He knew what Sherlock did was for his safety, for Mrs. Hudson, for Lestrade. But he curled his fists in anger nonetheless. But a smile crossed his face as he realized that his miracle had come true.

He shut his eyes. His emotions were going to drain him like a sink, he had to calm himself down.

"You alright back there?" the cabbie asked. His voice seemed raspy like he had a cold.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

The cabbie looked down at his watch. "Do you want some music on?"

John waved that the music was fine. The cabbie pressed a button and the radio started to play.

"And here's Avril Lavigne, My Happy Ending." the DJ said, obviously not enthusiastically.

The music to the overplayed pop song started ringing in John's ears as the cab drove through the streets of London.

"All of the memories so close to me just fade away. All this time you were pretending, so much for my happy ending." the chorus was sung through and the lyrics hit John's core closer than he ever felt a song hit him before. It talked to him and how Sherlock had betrayed him, and how the world betrayed Sherlock. He curled his fists again, not at Sherlock but at his Arch Enemy, Moriarty. "Thanks for watching as I fall, and letting me know we were done." The song looped back to the chorus after the bridge. John burst into tears. He was just getting used to living life without Sherlock, back to being filled with sobs and memories at every turn. Now he not only had to figure out how to get on with his life, but how to get back to life with Sherlock.

Suddenly he noticed that they were not going towards the lawyer's office. "Hey where are we going? The lawyer is seventeen blocks northwest of here."

"Construction." the cabbie muttered. "I hit it earlier tonight too, blocked up the whole area."

"And now an old classic" the DJ came on again. "Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees!"

"Turn the music off or to a different station, please." Watson demanded.

"No. I have a thing for this song."

"You will turn the station or you will not get paid for this ride." John warned the bald cabbie.

"This is my song. It gives me good vibes."

"This is my enemy's song. Turn it off now."

"Don't distract the driver." the cabbie turned around and smiled at John. He should have known. The raspiness of the voice was obviously faked. Moriarty's white teeth gleamed back at him.

"You're dead."

"What's the point of requesting the song Stayin' Alive when I'm-dead." Jim focused his eyes back on the road.

"Explain."

"I needed to get rid of Sherlock. He was a shark destroying my fishing nets, if you catch my drift."

John rolled his eyes. "You talked to him and made him kill himself." he played it tactfully. Moriarty may be alive but it didn't mean that he knew whether Sherlock was alive or not. It was best not to give it away.

"Yes. It worked beautifully didn't it. He jumped and ker-splat! His beautiful brains are all over the sidewalk. I do hope you weren't too upset by the whole ordeal."

"As a matter of fact, I was." John spat furiously. His hand was on the door latch and he slowly unbuckled his seatbelt.

"The door handles only work from the outside." Jim smiled gleefully, noticing John's escape plans. "Sorry, I only had access to this ancient cab."

John rubbed his hand over the seat. It was brand new material. Of course the car was manufactured specifically for Moriarty. "Why are you kidnapping me?"

"Because I've been thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"Sherlock had a pet. Now I sort of want one."

"Sherlock had a skull and other assorted body parts from the morgue that he would talk to. No pets."

"He had one."

"It wasn't a ferret or a cat was it?"

"No. He was better. Much better. You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you? You're just playing stupid."

John closed his eyes. If he were Moriarty's "pet human" he would have to outwit him. A near impossible task.

"Now I know you sort of followed Sherlock around, like a little puppy. I can't have that quite yet. I'm just going to let you live in my castle. You can wander my grounds, like a hedgehog or something, but don't follow me yet."

John sighed. He had been kidnapped by Sherlock's arch enemies before, but never permanently. This time it was Sherlock who wouldn't be able to say a last goodbye.

He remembered the gingerbread man that arrived by post not four weeks before. He wasn't saying goodbye Baker anymore. He was just saying hello.


	4. Chapter 4

5 Months Later

"Which suit do you like better, John?" Jim asked as he browsed through a rack of suits in the luxurious Italian clothing store in Rome. He held up a plain gray weave with a green shade in it, as well as a similar one with purple hue.

"The green." John said firmly. He hated that particular shade of green, so he decided it would fit nicely into his list of things to hate about Jim Moriarty, his kidnapper.

The top most thing that John hated was that Moriarty was smart. Just as smart as Sherlock, if not smarter. Jim had in fact been able to elude Sherlock these last five months, even hiding so close that he could see Sherlock looking for John but not being able to find him when he was watching in the building opposite him. But John Watson was just biding his time, Sherlock would come.

What Jim didn't know, or at least didn't mention that he knew, was that John was leaving behind clues for the consulting detective. They were small and would not be noticed by an untrained eye, but if Sherlock was on the trail he would see them: A copy of London A-Z left on the benches by the arrivals area at three different European airports, leaving a small cross with his fingerprints at the three break-ins that he entered with Jim, and other little things like that. He hoped it was enough.

"What is the occasion for the suits?" John asked, trying to sound vaguely interested.

"I'm meeting an old friend of mine tonight for dinner. He said he was bringing his date, you're coming as mine."

John stared at him in shock.

"Well, go on! Pick out your own suit!"

"You can't be serious! Your date? I'm very much straight, thank you very much."

"It's easier than hiring a babysitter to make sure you don't run off and leave London travel guides all over the place. And what was with the cross at the break-ins? What are you, Catholic?"

"No, but at those places, yes." John sighed. Jim knew everything.

"Oh I see...it's supposed to represent that old military term. What was it again?"

"Vatican Cameos." John mumbled.

"I can't hear you!" Jim cupped a hand around his ears in jest.

"Vatican Cameos!" John screamed, causing the woman at the front desk to jump.

"No need to shout, I'm not deaf!"

John just clenched his fists as he realized any attempt at getting away was futile.

John stared in silence as they were quickly seated at the beautiful restaurant in the Roman core. The Pantheon was only a few blocks away and was just in view of the two couples as they dined. Jim and the other man, a William Brecken from Chicago, held up most of the conversation.

"So how long have you known Jim?" Mrs. Brecken-to-be asked politely.

"About a year." John smiled.

"Oh that's wonderful!" she smiled back, dipping her fork deep into her seafood panzerotti.

He twisted his own fork, picking up some luscious pasta that he really didn't even have an appetite for. In fact, in the last five months he had shrunken to nearly 110 lbs from the 140 lbs that he had measured himself at the night before he was kidnapped. And that of course didn't tie in the 11lbs he had lost since the day on the St. Bart's rooftop. He wished that Sherlock had thrown over Moriarty's unconscious body before jumping himself. It would have saved him a headache later on.

He was really not listening to the conversation, but apparently some sort of deal was being made between the two men. Mr. Brecken had just given Jim excuse to leave the table to discuss it with John. Jim stood and brushed his hand across John's chest, tugging gently on his tie.

John reluctantly stood up with a barely audible sigh and followed Jim to the restroom.

"You don't need my help with the decision, do you?"

"Nope."

John opened up a stall to the bathroom. He didn't even have to go, he just wanted to get out of Moriarty's gaze for a moment. But the sight in front of him shocked him. It was a woman.

And not just any woman, it was The Woman.

Jim stepped forward when he noticed John pause, and his mouth dropped in shock. "You were beheaded."

"I know people who know how to find people." Irene Adler said silkily. "I was rescued by my black knight. I thought that role was for you, baby."

"hmm," Jim rolled his eyes sarcastically. "No."

"I want my revenge. And the people I know who find people, well they want revenge, and Mr. Watson as well."

John's eyes lit up. Sherlock had found him.

"You're unprepared this time, Mr. Moriarty. We've set up a challenge for you. Meet us inside the Colosseum in 20 minutes."

"20 minutes?" Moriarty smiled, but John sensed a tingle of fear in the man's eyes. Something he hoped Irene picked up on.

"See you there, my angels!" she pranced out of the restroom.

"I saw fear in your eyes Jim. You don't know what is going to happen." John taunted.

"Don't." Moriarty warned, moving his hand towards his pocket. John didn't know what kind of weapon the man might have in there, so he quickly shut up. "She said we didn't she?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock. Do you think Mycroft is here too?"

"Possibly."

"Good. They are easy to manipulate when they are together. Too much confidence in a room can lead to a fall."

"You should talk." John muttered.

"You shouldn't." Moriarty pulled out a small taser and shocked the other man, leaving him doubled over with pain in his chest. "Let's go, we've only got twenty."

They walked quietly out of the restroom and restaurant, careful not to attract the attention of the Breckens.

Within fifteen minutes they were at the locked gates of the Colosseum. Trusting the security cameras would be dealt with by Sherlock and Irene, they quickly picked the lock of a security gate and walked into the ancient Roman battleground.

"I was told by someone I was on the side of the angels." a voice sounded through the ruins.

"Yes, I recall someone telling you that." Moriarty chuckled.

"I told them I may be on their side, but that I wasn't one of them."

"If it was a real jump from the roof I wouldn't believe you."

"It wasn't."

"Neither was the gunshot."

"I realize that. Thank you for the observation."

"Sherlock? Where are you?" John asked. Moriarty gave him another shock in the arm.

"I'm with my angels, John. This is my side, and you should be with me."

"What do you mean?" Moriarty asked.

"I figured for nostalgia, I'd show you the people you tried to kill just so that they can see you dead. We are down here at the base."

Jim walked slowly down to the lowest level of the ruin where Irene, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly stood.

"So how exactly are you going to get John over there?" Moriarty teased, sending another shock through John's spine.

"By playing hide and go seek. You are going to stay here while we go and hide. You can have this gun." Sherlock said, tossing the pistol the twenty feet Moriarty was standing from him. "As soon as you find one of us, you can shoot us dead if you want."

"What's the catch?"

"Probably you." Sherlock chuckled.

"So it's a trap?"

"We are all unarmed. You are at the advantage."

"Answer my question, Holmes."

"Of course it's a trap, what fun would it be if it wasn't."

"Just count to ten, Jim." Molly snapped.

"The lights are out." Mycroft pressed a button that shut off all the lights that illuminated the ruins, as well as half the city.

Moriarty turned around, his vision completely turned off in the dimness of the foggy night. He couldn't see anything. "4...3...2...1!" he shouted as the lights suddenly burst back. "Ready or not, here I come!"

He cocked his gun and held it to John's head.

He quickly walked over to where everyone was standing and found Mycroft standing behind the first pillar. "Hmm, Sherlock figured you'd come to this post first. I thought you'd head to the south corner."

Moriarty swung his gun over to Mycroft's chest, only to slump dead in front of him. A bullet from a silenced gun had struck the man in the back of the head. John wheeled around to see Anthea, already texting someone, a gun leaning against the post next to her.

"We told him the we were all unarmed. We didn't tell him that there were more people here who were." Mycroft explained to the stunned John.

"If he were as smart as he says, he should have seen that coming." Sherlock muttered, walking Mrs. Hudson carefully down the old stone steps. "Congratulations Mycroft, thanks to you and your assistant you have recovered your position as my archenemy."

John swallowed back a few tears before jumping on Sherlock in a tight embrace. "Don't ever take that long again, you hear me!" he shouted, half sobbing-half laughing with joy.

"I didn't want him to know that I had caught on to him. I knew where you were for the last two months. I set up the meeting with the Breckens."

"So what's happened that I missed?" he chuckled, suddenly remembering that Baker street isn't home anymore.

"In regards to 221, we got it back with only a minor lawsuit. In fact once they heard you had been kidnapped and it was too traumatic for Mrs. Hudson to move to Canada, they actually came to court one day with a batch of cookies for us and a disgusting casserole."

"It was delicious, John. Sherlock left it in the staff room at St. Bart's." Molly butted in.

"There is also a new girl at your clinic named Mary who took over some of you clients for the time being. I think you and her will get along famously."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well it means that Sherlock has been taking an interest in romance lately." Mrs. Hudson said louder than necessary. "He and Molly kissed last month. And now they are in Italy together!" she glanced around. "With all of us..."

John gave Sherlock a pat on the back. "Good work mate."

Sherlock just glared at him.

"Well, all's well that ends well." Mycroft said, almost darkly. "But we still have a dead body here. Molly, can you do something here?"

The End


End file.
